You Might Call It Romance
by Kira Kunoichi
Summary: Gaara is the angsty rich kid who has given up on trying to please his parents. Hinata is the quiet, sensitive scholarship student. It is destined that they should fall in love. Or is it? GaaraHina GaaHina High School Fic
1. The End

Author's Note: This story does not take place in Konoha, it takes place in England. Modern times, most of it at a boarding school in the countryside near London. There, that should clear some things up.

* * *

Pain washes over me in waves, but I cannot cry out. It is as if my body was made of stone—but no, stone cannot feel, and I feel now, more than I have ever felt. Not just the physical pain, though that is significant. It feels as if some monster is trying to claw its way up my throat, choking me, tearing my soul to bits.

She doesn't want me.

Of course she doesn't. Did I ever believe she would?

Yes, I realise. I did. Some small, stupid part of me had let myself hope. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She would never love me. No one would. I am unlovable, why hadn't I realised that? No one has loved me for sixteen years. Why would anyone love me now?

But I had hoped.

Because I love her.

It is true, I realise again with a wave of pain. I love her more than I have ever loved anyone or anything. She had become my life, and now that my life is gone, I can no longer go on. It is horrible and unnatural to go on living after your life has gone. It is illogical. When your life leaves your body, you die.

All I want is to sleep. That is what I want now, more than anything else. Just to slip silently away, unnoticed, into darkness, into oblivion. That is all I want.

I guess my devious subconscious calls my bluff, because it calls up a sound, a sound of something I want most, even more than eternal rest. A voice, an angels voice, a voice I have come to love.

"Gaara!" the voice cries. "Gaara, what happened?"

But no, the voice is not real; it is a trick of my mind, some deeply hidden instinct of self-preservation that wants me to fight to stay alive. But it cannot trick me. I know the lie. I let myself begin to slip away, to leave myself, and the voice fades. I see no golden gates, no light at the end of a dark tunnel. I see only blackness, cold and inviting. It lures me closer with gentle promises of slumber and forgetting.

I close my eyes and go to sleep.


	2. Gaara

If you think about it, my life was never really that hard. I mean, there are children in Africa who have to walk twenty or more miles each day, just to get enough water to barely survive. And in some countries, so many people sleep in the same small room, around a central open fire pit, that it is not uncommon for an infant or small child to roll over in their sleep right into the fire and be burned to death. And my tragic story? I have always eaten expensive imported food, gone to prestigious schools, had a ridiculous amount of pocket money, and lived in luxurious mansions. I have two parents who get along, and two siblings who are generally kind to me. If you think about it like that, it seems insensitive, ungrateful, and self-absorbed to whine about my life. And I do sincerely appreciate the many luxuries and opportunities that I have been gifted with. But still, I've never felt entirely content with the life that fate dealt me.

My parents have always been extremely busy, Father with his work and Mother with her social engagements, so I, my brother, and my sister were raised mainly by a nanny. Of course, I saw my parents often—we ate supper together, and I presented myself to them each morning and each evening—but they never were very fond of me, I think. They favoured my elder sister, Temari, who has always been attractive, intelligent, polite, and athletically, artistically, and musically gifted. The year I was a junior in senior high school, she was in her sophomore year of university, studying business in the US. She was also betrothed to the handsome, intelligent son of one of Father's business partners, and I think that she was well-pleased with the match. In short, she was a perfect daughter.

My brother, Kankurou, however, was the complete polar opposite of Temari. My parents have always loved order and propriety, so Kankurou was always a disappointment to them. He was outspoken, rebellious, and eccentric, and received horrible marks in school. He dropped out in his junior year, and lied about his age to rent a flat in New York. Two years later, he was still living there, and was still being supported by Mother and Father, though he had promised he was looking for a job.

So, for my entire life, I have lived with twin pressures: To be like Temari, and not to be like Kankurou.

Believe me when I say that I tried. For years, I did my best to be Temari Number Two, but no matter how much I studied, no matter how hard I worked, I could never equal her. So I gave up. I never rebelled, or tried to anger my parents, I merely gave up on trying to please them. I merely realised that this was an impossible task.

So, for the first time, I became myself, the summer before I started senior high school. I dressed, ate, spoke, and acted as I wanted to for the first time in my life. I think that for a while it confused my parents to the point where they did not know what to do. But soon they recovered from their initial shock and pushed on me hard, harder than ever before, to be the son that they wanted. I refused to cave under their demands. I had come this far, and had absolutely no intention of reverting to my original, eager-to-please self. So I pushed back, as calmly and maturely as I could, and, finally, they gave up. Have it your own way, they said. Throw your life away. End up as worthless as your brother. We are through. We have put up with enough of this.

And so I was alone.

I no longer had any reason to care. Why did I need an education? Why did I need refinement? Unless my parents disinherited me, which was unlikely since Kankurou was still in their will, I was set for life. Nothing mattered to me anymore except enjoying my life to the fullest that I could. I broke off friendships with the sons of Father's business partners. My marks dropped drastically until I was nearly failing out of the boarding school that I attended. I no longer cared. It no longer mattered.

This is how I began my junior year.


	3. Hinata

Of course I knew of Hinata. Everyone did. She was one of the rare lower-class students intelligent and studious enough to merit a scholarship to my expensive school. Several girls, impressed by the novelty of her, had attempted to befriend her, and a few boys had sought her attentions, as she was quite pretty, but she had gently turned them all away. She joked softly that she, as a scholarship student, could not let her marks fall below ours, so she needed time to study. She did study very hard, spending every lunch period and all of her leisure time in the library, alone.

I do not know why, but I always felt a sort of kinship with Hinata. Maybe it was because of our solitude, for I, too, was usually alone. I could have had friends, I suppose, but found most of the boys my age petty and conceited. Or maybe this strange closeness with her was because I was the only one who knew her secret.

I hadn't meant to find it out, nor did I take pleasure in the fact that I knew something she obviously wished to keep to herself. I had all happened quite by accident, when I had found a bit of paper on the ground. Intrigued, I had picked it up and automatically read what was written upon it.

_Though you do not know it—_

_For I view you from afar—_

_The warmth of your smile_

_And your gentle eyes_

_Begin to melt my soul._

_To thaw my heart,_

_Which I froze, so long ago—_

_Sealed, cold and wintry_

_Within my stony breast._

_For to be cold is not to feel—_

_It is safe._

_But without warmth, there is no light,_

_No hope, no joy—_

_No love._

_-H.H._

And, of course, H.H. was her, Hinata Hyuuga. I knew it instinctively, with all my heart. So I knew her secret.

Hinata wrote poetry. Beautifully.

So there we were. I, a cultured young man who had rejected his wealthy upbringing. Her, an intelligent girl with soft eyes who wrote poetry…

It was destined that we should fall in love.


	4. First Meeting

Mr. Hatake will be forever one of my favourite teachers. It is not because he is a good teacher. He is not. He is always late to class, he has little passion for the subject he teaches, and he seldom takes his eyes off of his book, which, it is speculated, contains pornography. So, no, that is not why he is my favourite teacher.

It is because he assigned Hinata as my partner on our first book report.

Truthfully, it was surprising that Hinata was even in my English class, seeing as she was an honors student and I was practically failing out of school. I guess that it made sense though. In junior high, I was top of my English class, so the school forced me to take the advanced route in senior high, instead of remedial, like most of my other classes.

But that day, I knew none of this. It was a day like any other day. I did not even lift my head from my desk as Mr. Hatake read off the names for partners. They slipped through my mind like silk. _Sakura… Shino. Shikamaru… Sasuke…_

"Gaara, Hinata."

I smiled a bit, my face hidden by the top of my desk. I had ended up with someone not only incredibly clever, but also timid enough that I could probably get her to do most of the work. This would be easy.

Mr. Hatake put away his list and picked up his book, and there was a scuffling sound as students moved to find their partners. I stayed put.

"Um…" A soft voice came from above my head. "Gaara, right?" I nodded my head minutely. "Um, I-I'm Hinata. Your partner?"

I lifted my head and rested my chin on my folded arms. "I know."

"S-so, shall we b-begin reading?"

I sighed. "I would really rather not."

She ducked her head nervously, pressing her lips together. "B-but, well, we have to."

With a dramatic sight, I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the battered copy of A Tale of Two Cities that we had received the previous day in class. Well, it hadn't been battered the day before. Hinata eyed it critically, but said nothing. Pulling out her own book, she began to read silently. I put my head back down on my desk.

As much as I might like Hinata herself, I really hated people like her. Always so soft-spoken and gentle, blindly accepting everything, too timid to try to change things. Acting content would do nothing to make her so. It was fruitless and futile, and it bothered me to no end.

I really hated people like her.

* * *

Two days later, I still hadn't opened A Tale of Two Cities. I stared at the book in front of me as if trying to burn a hole through its cover with my eyes. My arms were crossed tightly across my chest in the universal gesture of leave-me-alone-I hate-you-all. I did not open my book. I did not even pick it up. Next to me, Hinata read intently and with a look of utmost concentration on her face. I turned from her, staring straight ahead. At the front of the class, Mr. Hatake ignored us all, lost in his own book, so there was no one to make me read.

The bell rang jarringly, shattering the silence of the somber classroom. Shoving my book into my bag, I swept out of the classroom and down the hall.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, rolling by in a haze of indifference, but when suppertime came, something out of the usual happened.

Hinata came to sit at my table.

* * *

I always sit in the corner of the cafeteria for my meals, next to the window. I face away from the rest of the students, but their reflections in the windowpane, like the shadows on the cave wall, give a shifting transient view of the chaotic world I face away from. In this stilted view, I could make out Hinata's silhouette as she stood timidly behind me, holding her tray of food.

"Um… Gaara?" Her soft voice was barely audible over the din of the cafeteria. "I-I was wondering if I m-m-might sit here?" In contrast to her clear voice when she was declaiming or answering questions in class, Hinata stuttered horribly whenever she spoke to other students, particularly boys.

"Fine," I muttered. She seated herself tentatively at the table, leaving one empty chair between us. Folding her hands in her lap, she bowed her head slightly for a moment, then began to eat. I picked at my food, sliding around my plate with the tines of my fork. We sat like this in awkward silence for a few minutes before she finally broke it with her timid voice.

"I-I noticed in class t-today…well, the p-past few days…" she began, then broke off. She busied herself with her napkin for a moment, then started again. "Y-you d-d-didn't read th-the book." I shrugged. "you d-don't like it?"

"I have read it before," I replied disinterestedly. "In junior high."

"A-and you didn't e-enjoy it enough t-to read it again?" She paused. "B-because I have read it before t-too. T-twice, actually. B-but I—I love it."

I shrug. "I never liked it particularly. The plot is too… and it just doesn't follow."

"H-how do you mean that?" She sounded genuinely interested, and was stuttering less than usual.

"It's just that… then ending. It does not really make sense to me. I mean, humans are primarily narcissistic, self-serving creatures. Even those who do supposedly selfless acts—if you ask them, they'll say it is for 'the good feeling they get inside.' Everything we do is about self. Even love—if it exists at all—is a combination of_our_ lust and the good feeling a person gives _us_. So Carton's noble sacrifice is unrealistic—the only reason he might save Charles is so that he might see Lucie happy, and that will never happen if he—Sydney Carton—has died." I am surprised that Hinata has gotten me to give such a long speech.

"But," she softly persisted. "Carton l-loves Lucie. R-real love."

"'Real love?' I don't believe that it exists."

"Oh," she says. "I-I suppose not." For some reason, she looks disappointed.


	5. First Friend

At breakfast the next morning, Hinata sat with me again, and again at supper. I do not know why she chose to sit with me when many other students would be more than willing to share their tables, but maybe, as a kind girl, she had made me her project, trying to turn this rebellious student into a Boy Scout model citizen. But, somehow, I did not mind. It was enjoyable to be with Hinata, even if she only saw me as a problem to solve. She was intelligent, kind, generous, patient, but never dull. She asked me about my life, and I told her about Temari and Kankurou, about my grammar school escapades, even about the stuffed bear that I had been inseparable from as a child. She listened interestedly, and never intruded, until I ventured to ask her about her life. Then, softly but unstutteringly, she began to speak.

I learned that Hinata was the eldest child of two, with a younger sister, Hanabi, in junior high. She was actually from a wealthy family, but, when her grandfather had died, her father had poorly invested his half of the inheritance, and had lost nearly all of it. After entreating his twin brother for help to no avail, he was forced to work for the first time, at a job that he hated and was not good at. He married his childhood sweetheart, but she died shortly after Hanabi's birth, leaving him to raise two daughters alone. Although Hinata was very intelligent, she insisted that Hanabi was so much cleverer than she was, and surpassed her in every way.

What amazed me most about Hinata's stories was how uncomplainingly she told them, careful never to whine to me. But even she could not keep the unhappiness from her voice when she talked about our school. She was, of course, very grateful for the opportunity to attend, but hated coming here. "I-I know I'm getting so much better of an education here than at one of the London schools," she confided. "B-but people here... they look at me like I'm some novelty toy to add to their f-friend collection. Really, the only way I get through life here is knowing th-that I can go home for the weekends." She paused for a moment. "But it's not quite so bad, now."

"And why is that?"

She smiled gently. "Because I have you, Gaara." She hesitated. "I think that you are my f-first real friend."

I half-smiled back at her. "I know that you are."

It was around this time that I began to wonder if I was in love with Hinata. Not true love, of course—I didn't believe in that. But I enjoyed her company and was physically attracted to her. So, by that selfishly human definition, I _was_ in love with her. But I began to wonder if maybe there was something more to what I felt towards her. Of course, since this went against my basic beliefs, the idea only confused me, but nevertheless I persisted with it, tormenting my brain with an illogical, inexplicable phenomenon. I pondered about it during class, staring at her as she worked. I even consulted A Tale of Two Cities, but this gave no answer that coincided with what I was sure was the truth. In the end, I decided that this was simply a large quantity of lust and selfishness, that it was merely the magnitude and intensity of my attraction that convinced me that this was 'something more'. Still I felt compelled to reread my book, imagining myself as Charles Darnay and Hinata as my beautiful Lucie. It was almost confusing to me when Lucie was described as blonde, for I always saw her in my mind as Hinata, dark-haired and lovely.

But Hinata knew nothing of my infatuation with her. I was careful not to mention it, or even hint. I watched in secret, waiting for the opportunity to tell her what I felt. Yet, I did not wish to burden her with my emotions when even I could not explain them.

The weeks slipped by, and, before I knew it, it was Christmas.


End file.
